


Her Third, His First

by TheGreatKelthulhu



Category: House M.D.
Genre: F/M, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-19 10:47:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14235615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreatKelthulhu/pseuds/TheGreatKelthulhu
Summary: House and his new wife have been married for a little while...then something unexpected happens.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here's another fic with Fauve (or Sarah, as she's really called), whom you may remember from La Domination.  
> I'm posting fics from this fanverse out of order, so you'll get more context on her and her backstory little by little.

"Your ass looks bigger."

"I missed you too." Sarah smiled wryly at her husband, dropping her suitcases and crawling on top of him, laying her head on his chest.  
"Ça va?, Mon Amour?"

"It was boring and lonely without you. But I managed." House rubbed a hand down his wife's back, his other arm between his head and the arm of the couch.  
"It helps that I have porn. Pictured you and Sunnie Dayze together in a locker room shower, and I was set for a week." 

Sarah snorted and shifted her position a bit, carefully avoiding House's bad thigh.  
"I think I did sleep with her once, on a mission..."

"Really?" House stared at her, eyes sparkling with perverted intrigue. 

"No," she admitted, winking at him. 

"Tease," he chuckled, kissing her forehead and giving her a playful smack on the ass, then squeezed it.  
"It does seem bigger, though. Doing any squats, lately?"

"No," she answered, "But I could do a few on your face, later."

Sitting up, House kissed her deeply and grinned. "Let's get some dinner first. I'll eat that, then I'll eat you." 

"Un bon plan, Chouchou."

  


* * *

  


One devoured Pâté à la Viande later, Sarah and Greg were back on the couch, friskily removing each other's clothes. 

House nipped and sucked at Sarah's neck while his fingers were occupied with unbuttoning her shirt. Once the last button was undone, he pushed the offending garment away, hands sliding over the cups of her bra, fingertips dancing along her cleavage.  
He drove his tongue into her mouth, groaning into it as her hand fisted into his hair. His fingers were now undoing the clasp of her bra. 

She sat back to let him slide the straps down her arms, pulling the bleach-white thing away from her breasts and tossing it aside. 

He stared lovingly at her breasts for a moment, before cupping them in his hands and massaging them. 

"Mmm..." Sarah moaned, biting her lip, "I missed these hands..."

"They're bigger." 

"Hm?"

"Your breasts are bigger. You had to buy a new bra." House had gone from massaging them, to inspecting them.  
(Being familiar with his wife's underwear had come in handy many times, such as this one.)

"Is that a complaint, Chouchou?"

"Never," he smirked, then furrowed his brow. "Have you been tired lately?"

"A bit. Why?" Sarah raised her eyebrow at him, a bit disappointed by the pause in foreplay, but curious to see where he was going with this.

"Have any nausea? Mood swings? Changes in your discharge?"

"Just a little bit, a handful of times, and yes. Is this a cause for concern, Doctor?" 

House ignored his wife's slight snark, and pressed on with his questions. Something was itching in his mind.  
"New food cravings lately? New food aversions? Have to pee a lot?"

"I think just a few...and I have noticed I have had to go more often than usual..." She sat back, looking at House's face as the wheels turned in his head, as her own turned in hers.

 

He had one final question. 

"Your period's been more irregular and infrequent than usual, hasn't it?" 

Sarah returned House's look, and opened her mouth to say something, when he pushed himself off the couch, tugged his own shirt back on, grabbed his cane and wallet, and shrugged on his jacket on his way to the door. 

"I'll be back soon." He closed the door behind him, then opened it again, sticking his head in.  
"I love you. Sorry about the paused sex session. I was looking forward to humping your brains out, too." 

Then he closed the door once again, leaving a stunned Sarah sitting on the couch.

  


* * *

  


When House got back to the apartment an hour and a half later, he found his wife still on the couch, but now shirted once again. 

"Where did you go, Chouchou?" 

"To pick up these." He help a pack of cigarettes. "And these."  
He tossed two rectangular boxes to her, and joined her on the couch.

Sarah regarded them for a moment, then pursed her lips.  
"Pregnancy test." She sank back into the cushions, and was silent for a good few minutes. 

House took this as his cue to also not talk (such a rare occasion), and instead patted her on the thigh. 

"I thought menopause was about to start for me," she said, finally. Then she looked over to her husband, kissed his cheek, and made her way to the bathroom. 

"Might have thought wrong," House replied softly, though she couldn't hear him.

  


* * *

  


"You thought wrong," House said, gently but matter-of-fact. 

"Ouais." Sarah was snuggled against him, head resting on his shoulder, his arm around her, two positive pregnancy tests in her hands. 

She wasn't feeling talkative just yet, still processing that she was apparently still quite fertile.  
She was seventy-two years old, and CRONUS’s experiments could only slow down her aging just so much--she was a bit overdue for menopause. 

Now, she was sitting here, pregnant. 

 

"Didn't think my boys could swim that well anymore," House said, after a while. "I mean, I'm not as old as you, of course--"  
This earned him a (gentle) elbow in the ribs.  
"But I'm fifty-eight. Not exactly as bright, young, and virile as I used to be. Still just as handsome, though." 

Sarah laughed and kissed him.  
"You are nice to look at, Chouchou. And still virile, otherwise I would not be pregnant."  
She kissed him again, on his mouth, jawline, and neck, then whispered in his ear.  
"Bon travail, Petit Greg." She patted his crotch.


	2. Chapter 2

Later, House lay curled around his sleeping wife in their bed, trying to get to sleep himself in spite of the anxiousness flowing through him.

 

Sarah was pregnant. 

 

House had always envisioned a life for himself that did not involve marriage or children in any way.  
Yes, he might have briefly considered proposing to Stacy at one point, before the infarction (and he _did_ marry Dominika, though that was more of a tit-for-tat deal than an actual marriage...regardless of any feelings he developed for her later).  
And yes, he actually did marry Sarah, which he still had yet to feel any regrets about. 

But babies...children...that was a different thing **entirely**. 

 

He'd somehow managed to sort of get along with Rachel while he was with Cuddy. (Hell, he still missed her a bit.)  
And he didn't really hate children, though he did find them annoying a little more often than not. Hell, some kids--patients back at Princeton-Plainsboro--even liked him. (That might have something to do with him being childish, himself.)  
And he was now fairly attached to his grown step-daughters...

But.

He had never given too much thought to having any of his own, and quite enjoyed the lack of responsibility the hypothetical kid(s) would have brought him. Having no kids had made him more free, in a few different ways.  
No obligations. No worrying about feeding, clothing, caring for them. No spikes in anxiety when they were sick or injured, no hurrying from work to try to make their little league game, no playdates or anything like that.  
No dealing with tantrums, angst, or acting out, either. Which was nice; he couldn't imagine having to figure out how to discipline a rebellious child, especially one who came from **him**.  
He could do pretty much what he wanted without having to worry about a smaller version of him at home. 

 

That was clearly about to change, though. 

 

He'd impregnated his wife, and--providing the embryo became a foetus, and provided that foetus made it past the 20th week (which, despite his reservations about this, he sincerely hoped it did) and continued to develop normally--in a matter of months, he'd find himself taking on this responsibility. 

He wouldn't be alone, of course (providing childbirth had no unforeseen serious consequences for her and....he didn't need to go on this tangent right now). He'd be doing this with Sarah, just as he'd done the fertilization of the egg with her. (Which was fun.)

But a child was an enormous responsibility that came with more than its fair share of obligations.  
He wasn't sure he could ever be ready for that. 

But then, she might not be ready, either. She'd been a young single mother who had never raised her children past the ages of 6 and 2--and that had been just about 50 years ago. She was out of practice, and hadn't had _that_ much to begin with. 

 

It eased his anxiousness just the tiniest bit to know that she would be almost as nervous about this as him. 

He wasn't alone in this, in any of it. 

 

Now feeling the anxiety dissipate a bit, he nuzzled his cheek against his wife's shoulder, and made another--this time successful--attempt at sleep.

  


* * *

  


Sarah had coffee waiting for him when he got up.

Bless that woman. He really needed it. Though sleep had quelled his nerves somewhat, he could still use some extra caffeinated help.

Pulling himself up on a stool at the counter, he propped his cane against it and thankfully accepted the steaming mug.

 

"You didn't sleep well, Chouchou?" 

House fought the urge to grimace at his wife's question. She was right, of course, but he didn't want to admit that right now, before his coffee. And before breakfast. And before he'd finished processing his feelings from last night. Which were why he didn't sleep that well, and he would have to admit _that_ , too. 

"Had a hard time getting to sleep," he finally admitted, after a few slurps, "Missed my Goodnight Fuck." 

"Well, we did agree on not having sex until we are sure it's safe," she said. "Speaking of that. I already called and set up an appointment with an OB-GYN. Later today, at 1:00."

"Great." House finished his coffee, and smiled softly when Sarah poured him some more. 

It _was_ great, though this appointment was sprung on him as abruptly as the discovery of the pregnancy.  
But then, it was abrupt to her, too. 

 

He looked up to see her regarding him thoughtfully, no doubt trying to read his expression (and pheromones). 

"Bacon and eggs?" she asked after a bit. 

"Sure," he answered, "Though for you, you should skip the eggs for a while."

"And the bacon." She smiled.

"Right." Pig wasn't kosher. Except for the few times she said “fuck it” and ate it. 

"Pancakes should be safe, non?" 

"Should be. Should be kosher, too." 

"If cooked separately, oui. You want your trief breakfast first, Chouchou?"

"Nah. You eat first. Gotta do that for two, now." He patted her belly, then grabbed his cane and stood, giving her a kiss before heading over to the stove.  
"My appetite hasn't woken up, yet, anyway." 

"You are a good husband." Sarah took his place on the stool. 

"Damn right."

  


* * *

  


The hospital Sarah frequented--which was where this particular OB-GYN worked--was established for metahumans, and those who otherwise weren't normal.  
So giving the doctor her medical history wasn't a metaphorical tip-toeing hassle.

(And, considering the city they were in, she probably heard stranger backstories.) 

 

Dr. Barbara Greenspan didn't even blink as Sarah and Greg relayed all the relevant information, simply nodded and noting it in Sarah's file. 

 

House sat in the waiting room for the rest of it, idly combing through old copies of People and Marie Claire. 

The most popular heartthrob of 2009 had allegedly cheated on his pop-star girlfriend, and the most beautiful actress under 30 in 2011 had talked about her (rather vanilla, in his view) sex life. 

It'd keep him occupied for a while.

 

Sarah, meanwhile, had a full physical, pelvic exam, and determined her blood type and Rh status (B positive).  
Dr. Greenspan had also ordered blood tests to ensure that Sarah's enhanced immune system had kept infections and illnesses at bay, saying that she'd like to be 100% sure, to which Sarah agreed.  
As well, to see what the type the baby was. 

There was also some question on if the experiments done on her decades ago affected her DNA in ways which could pass on to the baby; Dr. Greenspan had concluded that without genetic testing, it would be impossible to know.  
(Given the risk of those sort of procedures, Sarah decided to wait to get that done. Having the child was more important than that.)

 

Dr. Greenspan came out to notify him when it was time for the ultrasound.

 

House left behind the scandalous tabloids and girly chick mags and nervous-looking younger couples and re-entered the exam room.

 

Sarah had changed back into her clothes from the exam gown, now laying on the exam table, teal sweater pulled up under her breasts.

House stood beside his wife as Dr. Greenspan moved the wand over Sarah's belly, then turned the screen to them.

"There it is," she pointed a long, deep acorn-brown finger at a small spot on the screen, "Too early to see much yet, but that's where it's happening." 

 

Sarah seemed entranced by the little dot, House was less so. 

He'd performed ultrasounds before, in various stages of patients' pregnancies, so this was neither terribly transfixing or new to him.  
Still...he did feel a little tingle of excitement, knowing that's where his... _their_ child was growing. 

Sarah picked up on this, and smiled at him.  
"Our little one, Chouchou." She squeezed his hand. "Incroyable, n'est-ce pas?" 

"Yeah. _Juste un peu_." 

"You're about 4 weeks along," Dr. Greenspan informed Sarah, "And the first trimester is the critical phase. You've had a stressed-induced miscarriage before, so you're certainly at risk. However, you're much healthier overall now, and if you avoid intense stress and turmoil, and take care of yourself, you and the baby should be just fine."

 

After putting the ultrasound machine away, the doctor turned to her patients and asked, "Any questions?"

"Yeah," said House, handing his wife her pale grey blazer, "When can she and I have sex again?"

Dr. Greenspan's (appropriately green) eyes flickered in amusement as she turned to Sarah.  
"The husbands always ask that question," she mock-whispered.

  


* * *

  


It had been determined that the baby was due around May 23rd (which was quite close to House's birthday). 

 

It had also been determined that now was the time to start taking multivitamins, so after leaving the hospital, Sarah and Greg headed to the pharmacy. 

 

House had also decided to use this opportunity to get refills for his Vicodin; while waiting for that, he perused the vitamin aisle with his wife.

 

"400 micrograms of folic acid...70 milligrams of vitamin C...10 milligrams of vitamin E..."  
He squinted a bit at the lines of options before him, then finally plucked one out, and held it up.  
"These ones."  
"Your professional opinion?" Sarah asked.

"Yup." He smiled and patted her ass. "Also my professional opinion that your breasts and ass look even more amazing now, if that's possible."

Sarah rolled her eyes and gave him a kiss.

  


* * *

  


Back at home, Sarah and House each swallowed their respective pills. Sarah with water, House without. 

 

"One a day, unless the baby _really_ takes after you, then maybe 2 or 3."

"Yes, _doctor_ ," Sarah said with a gentle mocking tone. 

“You remember that I am-- _was_ \--one, right?” 

“Then why did you ask Dr. Greenspan that question? You know already know the answer.”

House raised a brow. “Do you even know me?”

Sarah rolled her eyes and smiled. “Of course. Tu es un troll des plus grandes proportions.”

“C’est vrai. Mon troll est le plus grand de tous.” He waggled his eyebrows, and his wife laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't know as much about pregnancy as I probably should, and even less about OB/GYN appointments and whatnot, so I just gleaned some info I found by googling. If any of it was wrong and/or incomplete, we're just gonna keep our mouths shut and pretend it was right.  
> Because I've already done all the research I'm willing to do, and I'm not editing this :P


	3. Chapter 3

House looked up as the door to the cafe opened and the little bell jingled. 

“There she is.” 

His Useless Lesbian Step-daughter walked over to the window table, looking particularly cute and femme in a pink shirt, grey skirt and matching sweater. 

He noticed that she was looking a bit nervous and flustered, and carefully averting her eyes from the people around them; he glanced around a bit to find that the cafe today was populated with some fairly attractive waitresses and female patrons.   
Of course. 

Sometimes he wondered how she managed to not collapse under the weight of her own lesbianism, which must have weighed a metaphorical metric ton. 

 

He reached to give her a one-armed hug before she sat down across from him. 

“How is my little fluff today?” he asked. 

“A bit hungry,” was her reply. 

“I’d say.” He inclined his head toward the pretty blonde waitress who was approaching them, and gave her a smug and knowing grin. 

Diana bit her lip, glanced down, and whispered, “The muffin and tea special…”

He’d figured he’d have to order for her, and did so (after ordering for himself) without complaint...but not without trolling. 

“She’ll have the tea and muffin special,” he said, “She just _loves_ to eat muffins, you know. Can’t get enough.” He gave their waitress--Kerri, her name tag read--an allusive look. 

Kerri simply smiled sweetly and walked off to the kitchen. 

“You’re just terrible,” Diana muttered, glaring at him. 

“Yep.” He twirled his cane flippantly. “But you love me.” 

She snorted, but smiled at him. “I might love you more if you shut up, Dad.” 

“You know that’s not gonna happen.” 

“I can dream…”

“Anyway,” he propped his cane against the table, “You should be thanking me. Kerri might play for your team. You could get her number, go get yourself a much-needed boff.” 

“Maybe you should go ‘boff’ yourself.” 

He snickered. Nice. Though he _would_ have to do that for more than few months…

 

He looked up. 

Diana was staring at him, and he could almost see the gears in her head turn, lightning-fast.   
Then she smiled knowingly.

“Is it a boy or a girl?” 

He wasn’t sure exactly how she managed to figure out that he’d impregnated her mother based on the subtlest change of his facial expressions--even after getting to know her almost better than her mother did, Diana still sometimes threw him for a loop--but she did it. 

He shrugged. 

“We don’t know yet.” He didn’t try to deny it. Why bother? She was right, and she knew it.  
“Too early to tell. OB-GYN appointment was yesterday.” 

Sarah wouldn’t be terribly pleased with the surprised being ruined though. She wanted to tell her daughters herself…  
“Let’s pretend that you’re just hearing this for the first time when your mother calls,” he added. 

“Alright.” Diana nodded. “Are you sure it’s yours, though?”

 

Revenge for embarrassing her in front of Kerri. He knew that was coming, but _damn_. That was sharp and cold. 

“You little bitch,” he grinned proudly.

  


* * *

  


Muffins and paninis were eaten, bills were paid, a waitress was tipped, and House and his favourite useless lesbian left the cafe, roaming around and enjoying some of the lasts lingering bits of summer-ish weather. 

“Have you and mom thought of names, yet?” 

“Nope. How does ‘Fifi Apple Moonblood Blanket Trixibelle Pilot’ sound?”

“Like you’re drunk.”

A wolf-whistled interrupted their banter, followed by a “Hey sexy!” 

House and Diana looked around for the owner of voice, and settled on some overly flashily-dressed man waving at Diana from a few feet behind them. 

“Nice legs!” He winked at her. 

“Thanks, hot stuff!” House waved and winked back, causing the other man to make a face and turn away. 

House turned back to Diana, who was blushing but giggling. 

“Thanks, Dad.” 

“No problem.”

  


* * *

  


“Bernard?” 

“No.”

“I think you should consider it.” 

“And have him get caught in a honeytrap by a Peking opera singer, when he’s older?” House rolled his eyes.  
“I don’t think so.”

“Bertrand?”

“That’s even worse. Haven’t you ever seen ‘Madame Butterfly’?”

Diana looked up from her phone and smiled at her father. 

“Yes. How about Ancelle? Eudonie? Joliette? Zoelle?”

“How about no thanks.”

“You said I could make suggestions,” Diana said, raising an eyebrow.

“I did. You _can_ make suggestions. And I can ignore them.”

“And I can bring them up with mom.”

House rubbed his brow and sighed, adjusting his position on the park bench. 

“What about Levy?” she asked. 

“Drove my Chevy to it, but it was dry.” 

“Iana?”

“Waffle cone. “ House grabbed his cane and stood up. “And no more names.”

  


* * *

  


They sat on the park bench in silence after getting their waffle cones, watching energetic child after energetic child run by. 

House pictured his own child running by, and wondered how in the hell he'd ever keep up with them. 

Then he noticed that Diana was observing him closely again, and sighed.   
“What?”

“You’re apprehensive about raising a child from birth.” This was a statement, and she sounded very sure of it.

She had reason to be, but House didn’t want to admit that. Without snark. 

“Well,” he licked some ice cream from his cone, “After seeing how you and your sister turned out, can you blame me? Your mother has dominant ‘total handful’ genes.”

“And you don’t?” Diana raised an eyebrow at him, smiling smugly. 

“Oh, shut up.” He turned his attention back to his ice cream. “I take you to the park and buy you ice cream like a good father, and this is how you treat me. _Ungrateful_.” 

Diana chuckled and shook her head.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part of the chapter is a guest contribution by my friend, The Hawk.   
> (Not an Ao3 member, as of yet.)   
> The rest was written by me.

House paced back and forth across the study floor, his gait becoming progressively more stilted until he was forced to take up his cane to continue. Ever since he’d married Sarah, the pain had been much improved. Not entirely gone, but manageable, even ignorable for long stretches. In his various battles with Vicodin and pain, his stint with therapy, he had discovered a point of compromise. There _was_ a psychosomatic component to his agony. Not the whole thing, but a part.

When he’d had a puzzle to solve, it was better. When he’d been bored and restless, it knifed through him and tattered what little there was left of his soul.

_I know pain. You think you can handle it, and then one day you can't. And when that happens, you either find reasons to go on, or you don't._ He’d said that to a patient once. He couldn’t remember which one right now, mostly because he didn’t care to. It was a truth he had lived with every day for as long as he cared to remember, and even intruded on memories from before the accident and the infarction.

Lack of pain hadn’t improved his mobility by much. He could walk without his cane for brief bits, more than before, but not enough to want to leave home without it. It only vaguely interfered with his sexual prowess; some positions would be forever beyond him, and others just required a bit of forethought. Nothing that stopped the fun, really.

He turned at the far end of the study and his eyes slid to a stop when they found the doorway, where Sarah stood leaning against the frame, her arms folded lightly across her considerable chest, above the swell of her belly.

“I thought tormenting you was my job now, mon chou-chou.” She said with softness, but not mirth. Even in the 2 AM gloom, the glitter of warm concern in her eyes was impossible to miss.

He opened his mouth to speak, but his jaw canted to one side. He reconsidered, then he shrugged a shoulder. As a habit, they generally didn’t interrupt one another while they were trying to work a thing out. This was different, though, and he knew it. He wondered how she had figured it out. Maybe something Diana had said to her.

“Three hour rule,” she smirked, as if reading his mind. Yeah, they didn’t interrupt each other during a brainstorm, but the time limit was three hours before one of them went to the other in the hopes of triggering an epiphany. “It was up two hours ago.”

He nodded. “How do people in wheelchairs raise children?”

She raised an eyebrow.

House looked up at the ceiling, and then over at the window. “Say you can’t walk at all. You’ve got a little one that’s just gone from toddling to sprinting. How do you keep them from sprinting into the street? You can’t chase them _and_ grab for them at the same time. Or you can but if you miss you’re running over junior.”

“I would say,” Sarah was choosing her words carefully, “planning ahead is the first part. You would have a ramp off the porch to come and go, non? If you had fast children, then it seems to me you would build a fence. A harness and leash, while I know are debatable, would be a possibility while you’re out somewhere. And the assistance of someone who can walk would be a thing to consider, either your partner or a nanny or the like. Is this what has you so confounded that you must pace like a masochist across hot coals?”

He glanced over at her, and gave her a single nod. “There were kids playing in the park today. Their minders were within line of sight. A quick sprint and they could keep Junior from eating dog shit, or stop Raggedy Anne from taking a header off the monkey bars.” He shrugged. “Any one of those kids could have scampered away from me and I’d be reduced to hobbling after and hoping they’d listen when I yell.”

“You had Diana with you,” Sarah said. “She could have done the running.”

His face twitched and he tilted his head. “Doesn’t feel good enough.”

“I want you to consider the whole of what I am saying here,” Sarah said, unfolding her arms and slowly crossing the room towards him. “You’re a very clever man, Grégoire. You torment yourself now because you are staring only at what you think are your shortcomings. You stand too close to the tree, and you miss the forest. Isn’t that how you described it? Those moments before your Wilson would say something and make you refocus?”

“The epiphany.”

“Oui, mon cher.” Sarah gave him a smirk. “You think in layers. You are cunning, and you can plan with great elaboration. You are a weak swimmer.”

“The kicking is problematic,” he said, both turning his head and angling it to one side. “What does that - “

“The nightmare of all parents. You haven’t had it yet,” she smiled up at him. “With both of my children, I had this recurring nightmare that they would fall into a pond, and I could not get to them. You will have it, too.”

“Well, _yeah_ , now that you’ve given it to me.”

“You see, in the nightmare, it simply begins so: they are at the water’s edge, and I am too far away. This nightmare haunted me, for years and years. Until I realized something. In the waking world, we do not just appear places. When I knew there was water nearby, I simply made sure my child stayed close to hand.”

“And the nightmares?”

“I just had it again,” Sarah smiled up at him. “I awoke and you had not come to bed yet. I had a feeling we should talk.”

“So you’re still afraid of it. Of your child drowning.”

“Oui. But you see, in my experience? Fear keeps you vigilant. You will think ahead, you will plan, you will have contingencies. You will protect your child, mon amor,” she leaned up then and brushed her lips over his. “Even if it means you have to ask for help.”

“I should be able to do it on my own.”

“You have always worked with a team. Is it not so that part of being self-sufficient is utilizing your resources, even if that includes other people?”

“Kinda contrary to the idea of self-sufficient, actually.”

She eyed him for a moment. “You’ve been thinking of a solution. It’s in your resistance to what I am telling you now. What is it?”

He turned and ambled towards the desk, took a half-seat on its edge. “There are a… couple methods I’ve tried of curing my condition, or at least mitigating the pain. One didn’t work, after a while. The other did, but it had its own risks, and it made me worse at my job.”

“Go on.”

He shrugged. “Methadone. It took away the pain. I was functional. At least physically. But it took away my edge. I wasn’t taking risks that I normally would. It wasn’t as hard to focus so I didn’t focus as hard.” He paused and looked at her. “I had a patient, a kid. Her parents wanted an MRI done. I was feeling good, I humored it, even though I knew it was pointless. I played nice because I was in a good mood. It cost us valuable time. I wouldn’t have tolerated it if I’d been in pain. With the pain, I didn’t give a damn what anyone else thought or felt, unless it was useful. Pain kept those things out of my way. So I stopped using the methadone, and the mojo came back.”

Sarah frowned at him. “I’m trying to imagine you giving up alcohol.”

“What I saved in booze went into my hooker and porn budget.”

“Ah, now that I can imagine.” Sarah nodded. “Did you consider a smaller dose, then?”

“I rejected it at the time. Now I’m thinking maybe a balance point.” He gave a small shrug. “When I’m with you, I’m not in nearly as much pain. I’m happy. It doesn’t seem to get in the way like it would if I were practicing medicine.”

“You said it cost you time,” Sarah said. “Not that it made you less brilliant.”

He screwed up his face as he considered that. “It ramps up the sense of urgency. It makes it harder to focus, so I’m driven to fight through it. Like getting pissed off and using a rocket launcher to hunt squirrels.”

“Seems like you would not have much squirrel left.”

“Depends on your point of view,” House smirked. “If you’re making soup…”

She gave this some thought. “If you were taking a smaller dosage, how long would it take between a missed treatment and the return of your full faculties?”

“The dose I was taking, twelve hours,” he said. “The pain started to return after eight. A smaller dose - I’m thinking maybe seventy-five percent - would reduce the time accordingly. The thing is, it has to be seriously regimented. I did it wrong when I was doing it myself and I had some side effects. Like I forgot to breathe for a little bit.”

Sarah smiled. “I think we can establish a schedule you’ll stay on. I’ve been wanting to play doctor with you.”

“I can be a _very_ difficult patient,” he grinned. “I’ve had a lot of experience with those.”

“Should I walk with a cane, make pithy comments?”

“That’d be a lot like fucking myself,” House said. Then he pursed his lips and nodded. “That sounds fun. I’m game.”

Sarah stepped up close to him, sliding one of her legs up next to his good one. “So we will start your treatment, see how it goes. And either way, we will talk about how to plan for a child that will be running circles around both of us.” She reached up and cupped his face in her hands, a small shiver passing through her at the feel of his bristly jaw and cheeks against her palms. “I am your team now, mon chou-chou. If you had brought this up at dinner, you could have come to bed with me then.”

“I can come to bed with you now. Catch up on the five hours I missed.”

“Hm. Then you should bring the lube, you’ll be working hard,” she said as she stepped back and turned from him.

He watched her go, and it wasn’t until she slipped around the door frame that he realized he was grinning like an idiot.   
_Hot dog._

  


* * *

  


House awoke to a slightly sore ass, and a bed that contained only him.   
After waking up a bit more, he heard some hushed German arguing, and realized that his wife was on the other side of the bedroom door. 

He heard her sigh, then say, “Das Kätzchen wird für eine Weile im Haus bleiben. In der Zwischenzeit werde ich dir eine Liste der adoptierbaren Katzen schicken. Viel Glück und keine Flöhe.”  
Then she hung up. 

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes as Sarah opened the door and walked to the closet, storing the shiny Blackberry phone into a box behind one false panel or another. 

“Everybody’s after your pussy, huh?”

Sarah snorted and rejoined her husband under the covers. 

“Erika will not be available for a while.” She snuggled up against him, resting her head on his chest.  
“Neither will Francine or Christina or any others, so I will have more calls to make later.”

“You’re taking maternity leave?” he asked.

“Ouais. But also…” She tilted her head up to look at him. “I will have a baby to care for. I cannot go putting myself in the same situations I have been the last few decades. I am a mother again, and I can’t live the same life I used to.”

“You’re quitting?”

“I’m…” she paused to rummage for the right words. “I...might change specialities. I need to think.” 

“Cool.” House draped his arm over her, and yawned. “So I’ve got you all to myself for the next 9 months.”

“Ouais.”

“Très bien.” He cupped her cheek in his hand and kissed her.

  


* * *

  


House made breakfast again, while Sarah informed her “work colleagues” that she’d not be working with them for a while. 

“Désolé,” Francine had said, “Mais je ne cherche pas de nouvelles pièces pour le moment. Je vous ferai savoir quand je chercherai quelque chose pour le Louvre.” 

Christina told her old uni contacts, “Thank you for your concern, but my doctor isn’t confident that I’m well enough to return. Best wishes.” 

And the other identities he didn’t bother paying attention to. 

 

Sarah had just finished putting in her 9 month’s notice as her last identity as House slid her plate of (whole wheat) French toast fingers with blueberry jam across the table, followed by a tall glass of milk. 

“Merci, mon amour.” She took a bite and smiled at him. “You’re going to keep me well fed during my pregnancy, aren’t you?”

“I keep you well fed all the time.” He shrugged. “Except when you’re cooking.” He sat down across from her, eating his own French toast fingers.   
“But yes, especially now. I’m taking care of you, while you grow our little spawn.”

Sarah leaned over the table to kiss him, and stroked his cheek.  
“I should fuck you in the ass more often. It makes you so agreeable.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used Google translate for the German (as I don't actually speak it), so if it's incorrect, let's just pretend otherwise :P  
> I also used Google translate for the French too, even though I speak it. Because I'm lazy.


End file.
